


It's written in the stars

by Super_Scene_It



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_Scene_It/pseuds/Super_Scene_It
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When friends die, things change and last Christmas kinda sucked.<br/>When friends come back, things are different but maybe this Christmas could make up for the last one.</p><p>OR im really bad at writing fic summaries and this is really just a <strike>sad</strike> johnny/peter christmas fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's written in the stars

 

"That one kind of looks like Ben."

Peter followed Johnny's ocean blue eyes appearing so warm and bright and very much alive in the dead of the cold winter night. His own brown eyes were so dim in comparison to the starry sky, it had him feeling just the tiniest bit jealous.

He hadn't noticed he was doing it, but with the mention of Ben's name Peter waited for a joke or a laugh that didn't come. And when he searched Johnny out for that telling glint in his eye that'd surely spill out all the laughter he suppressed, Peter found nothing but pure concentration and determination. A combination he hadn't expected to find.

 

Peter's lips were frozen stiff, "Where?"

The single word leaving his mouth was encased in a block of ice, dropping and sliding down the slope too steep for even Peter to keep his balance.

Johnny leaned over, just slightly, pointing up to the ever expanding black board chalked with sparkling dots twinkling so far away from places unknown, it made everything at arm's reach seem so insignificant. Peter peered over his shoulder at the man on his left and, well, maybe not _everything._ Regardless, their glows were fading in and out but every shine lingered without falter and perhaps a little too much promise, like they would never leave and would be there to greet you in the morning.

 

"There."

His finger mapped out a guideline with no real precision and Peter squinted, trying his hardest to follow along and getting lost somewhere within the effort that seemed to exhaust him more than he'd known it could've.

And when Johnny fell in even closer so that their shoulders were conjoining like birth defected twins, Peter couldn't seem to focus on anything other than the comforting heat that transferred from beneath the paper thin cloth of Johnny's shirt and flowed its way through the thick fabric of Peter's three sweaters-- each layered one over the other-- surpassing the blockade that didn't seem to do much against the blistering cold.

Johnny's generous heat warming his entire body and defrosting his bones, suddenly his blood was flowing to every parts of him and he could feel his nose again and his face didn't feel like it was going to fall off anymore and he could think a little clearer. Maybe even see a little clearer too.

 

"Do you see it?"

 

To Peter's ears it sounded a little too earnest and Johnny was watching him closely in the same way a child does when he looks for approval, and although the constellation mirrored something that appeared a lot more like a cluster of dots too disorganized to assemble any kind of real image, he nodded anyway, offering a frost bitten smile to assure the sincerity that wasn't really there.

In turn, Johnny didn't reflect the expression like Peter had hoped, instead searching him out like he could smell the stink of a lie on him. A second later, though, he seemed uncertain and his lips pressed into a skeptical line, brows curling when his eyes were lifting to study the scattered dots again as if it were a riddle he couldn't possibly figure out.

With that particular mien Peter couldn't help but to notice he looked so very young, lacking all the innocence he had then yet still filled with so much curiosity just as he had been the day he first met him. It almost hurt to see because it flashed him back to a much simpler time when they were both too stupid and oblivious to the amount of heartache and grief their unconventional lives would bring them. When life was good and they had no idea how much the losses could outweigh the gains.

 

And then Peter blinked and the second it took his lids to drop and fly back up, his heart jumped in his chest and skipped a beat or two where he was half expecting it all to be a dream. Or perhaps another nightmare he'd be waking up from any minute now, screaming and shaking into the woman beside him like he had the Christmas before.

For some reason he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around, he has to keep reminding himself that this time was different because here he was, one Mary Jane-less Christmas year later, and he knows he's put her through a lot and although he never thanked her for all she's done he liked to imagine she understood his silent gratitude. But how could he really think of her when Johnny was right here beside him, perhaps not looking so young as he did just moments before.

 

So while Johnny watched the skies, Peter watched him, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was about him that seemed so different. Were his eyes just a little bit more blue than he had remembered or was there just a little extra glimmer to them that wasn't there before? Was his hair an inch longer than usual or just a shade off in the dark? Was it the determined furrow of his brow? Perhaps a new crease forming on his forehead? Was it the new slimness to his face or the strong set of his jaw?

Had the time he'd been away really change that much of him?

Peter stopped himself there at that thought, catching himself before he could fall down that dark hole that'd take too much time to pull himself out of. Therefore, like he often does, he rewires and shuts down that part of his brain that tries to dig too deep, shoveling up distant memories that are so useless and pointless and were so many months ago that a reminder wasn't really needed; especially when all it does is create more pain and sadness: two things of which no one should be dealing with on a day like this.

 

As much effort as it took he decided it was worth it to savor the moment and so he broke free from Johnny's image, leaving him to tend to his mission while he allowed his sights to stray elsewhere, embarking on their own adventure, taking in the rare immaculate beauty of the white Christmas Eve they were granted this year.

As the view from Aunt May's roof wasn't one he appreciated much, everything gently blanketed with the careful touch of snow that stopped falling hours ago stilled it all to peaceful perfection. Then again, this time of year always brought out the best in everything. It was quite the deception but every crack in the sidewalks were filled, the branches of the trees didn't seem so naked and lonely, the cars looked new, the clogged gutters didn't matter, the flickering lamp post two houses down didn't give him the creeps but instead made the snow sparkle just a bit brighter, the rusting fences of neighbor homes were white laces on a brand new shoe, unkept bushes bookmarking the sides of the steps offered its own hand to the scenery, and even the dying grass overrun by weeds had a certain kind of beauty to it. Everything was beautiful and perfect.

 

 

Then Johnny looked at him and Peter thought he saw something that wasn't supposed to be there. Something a bit too serious and worn, a look Peter hated to see because it never seemed right on his face and he wore it a little too often these days.

Their eyes leveled on one another, opposite ends of a magnet too strong to pull apart, and as the winds lurked around the corner, Johnny looked like he was meaning to say something he was saving for a night like this.

 

He looked liked he wanted to say something but he didn't.

 

 

When Peter noticed Johnny's smile appeared a lot more like a frown than anything else he silently cursed himself for the new found clarity all that warmth granted, almost thankful when Johnny took some of it back, letting the cold fill the space between them as he leaned down to trace mindless doodles in whatever remaining snow hadn't melted beneath him, leaving Peter to freeze over into the next frosty the snowman.

From where Johnny abandoned him Peter tried to hide his shivers and the clattering of his teeth as he twisted his arms together, trying to hug himself in a position that would provide him with maximum heat.

 

Peter glanced over and he didn't know what Johnny was thinking, and maybe it was better that way, but even if he didn't know what made him bite his tongue, the silence told him it was about that year they'd never talk about. That cold, dark, lonely year.

And just like that, Peter felt the guilt all over again. He felt it and tried his hardest to push it down. That night, he should have been there; he should have done so much more. The knot in his throat tightened and it hurt to swallow.

 

Johnny was really quiet and it felt strange so Peter looked to the stars for something to say, and quick before his tongue caught gangrene.

 

"That one kind of looks like a butterfly," Peter tried, pushing an arm up to a random place in the sky, a balled fist gripping tightly onto the many sleeves that threatened to ride up at the gesture.

Johnny looked into the distance that was probably so far off from where Peter suggested, he almost laughed out loud. And Johnny seemed so serious, "Yeah, I guess."

 

And just like Peter, Johnny was a liar. Two liars sitting on a roof together at 12:02am on a white Christmas day.

 

Then suddenly Johnny was rising, every shift of weight crunching snow between the ridges at the bottom of his sneakers and he was slipping his phone out from his back pocket, cursing at the screen that was so bright it was blinding, and Peter figured he probably had somewhere else to be.

"Is everything okay?" Peter asked, and it was late and Johnny looked so tired it reminded Peter of his own tiredness and it made him miss the warmness of his own bed.

"Yeah, I just forgot something. I'll be right back," Johnny said, and now when he smiled it was like so much time has passed, yet none at all. Like they had changed but were still the same somehow. And Peter wondered what Johnny seen in him. If that year they've been apart had altered him in ways he, himself, hadn't noticed.

"Just gimme like five minutes," and he was gone quicker than he said it, becoming just another wavering light in the night sky that Peter worried wouldn't be there when morning came.

 

It was even more colder without the radiance of Johnny's heat, and occupying himself from it by counting the different colors lighting up the houses across the street reminded him of the blue light bulbs on the small strip hanging outside Aunt May's window below him-- the only outer decoration they had that they could display without bypassing the budget they'd set for the monthly electricity bill. He had insisted it be at her window, and had been the one to put it up even after all her refusals. She was really too good for him. He didn't deserve her, he really didn't. She had denied it, but he knew she worked those extra hours just for him. To make this Christmas special, to somehow makeup for the last one as if it were her fault. And, honestly, he doesn't know who to blame, but he feels the guilt so it's easier to place it upon himself because sometimes Johnny smiles or just looks at him the way he does in his dreams and he can't tell if he's really here or if he's just making it all up in his head. And the fear of never knowing really scares him.

As if the footprints weren't hard proof enough, he still couldn't push down the voice inside him that was screaming, telling him to wake up, that this was just another blue Christmas wrapped in a white blanket and there wasn't going to be a flamed hero dashing around the corner with that smile so bright it could put the summer's sun to shame. No. It was just another miserable, lonely night, wasn't it?

 

The wind shifted and the clock ticked but his eyes remained vigil and he pinched his arms, clamping his skin between his nails, applying pressure just a tad too soft, too hopeful, too much of what he felt could very well have been denial.

Strangely, he found himself to be entirely okay with that. And suddenly the air didn't feel so cold.

 

"Okay, close your eyes," came a voice Peter knew all too well. It echoed and when he turned around he hadn't exactly known when he had returned, but Johnny looked flushed and more energized with this fresh new smile that conveyed all his excitement. Peter could see his arms behind his back, keeping something out of view and he suddenly knew what this was all about.

 "Awww, c'mon, Johnny. You said no presents."

He could hear the sound of annoyance entangled in his own voice and it was like a moment in a dream where you weren't exactly sure if it was real but you couldn't stop yourself from playing along. Or one where you _knew_ it wasn't but you didn't want to wake up. Either way, he all ready convinced himself it was actually happening even if it felt surreal.

"I know, I know. I'm a liar, what can I say?" With a gentle shrug, he sounded so unapologetic Peter sort of despised him for it. "Just... close your eyes and gimme your hands."

He squatted down in front of him and Peter did as he was told, though not without a huff and a few mumbles that got his point across. Johnny had this sweet look in his eye that burned itself into the underside of Peter's lids, and when he took his hands, they were so warm like a steaming mug of hot cocoa, it gave him a craving for one.

Still, not for the first time tonight, Peter half wondered if he was reaching out toward a ghost.

“No peeking.”

What was dropped into his hands was solid, yet almost weightless and he dragged his fingers over its flat surface and along its corners, noting the warmth it still held from the palms gripping his shoulders. From the darkness beneath his lids, his imagination painted a picture too abstract for his understanding. He hadn't really given himself a moment to ponder. All he could think about were the hands on his shoulders.

“Okay, open 'em.”

Black and smooth and shiny, not too big but not too small, the tiny camera fit for someone far too professional of a photographer made the broken one in the back of his draw that he was saving up to replace seem so obsolete and easily forgettable. This was a successor he would have never had the audacity to consider; not just too far out of his price range but just too nice for him in general-- with a brand so top class he'd never heard of it before and all these new features he couldn't wait to explore.

All in all, it looked really, really expensive and knowing Johnny, it probably was.

 

“I figured you could use a new one.”

And in that dying moment that wasn't meant to last, Johnny's face froze over into a block of ice, holding his beauty there in a fixed state of bliss. And Peter held onto every passing second of it before it could melt away into another puddle beneath his shoe.

"Johnny... I – I don't know what to say. This is – it's really, really nice. I just..."

Unsure of what to say, of what's appropriate, of what it was he was actually feeling; his gaze leveled on the device in his hands, scanning for words it couldn't offer and when he looked up to find the biggest, brightest smile across Johnny's face, for the smallest instant he'd thought his heart stop beating.

All choked up for words, nothing was coming out right and he knew there wasn't a thing he could ever say that could accurately convey his emotions that were probably more complex than he'd known they could manifest. So he settled for a safe cliché.

"Thank you. You really didn't have to." His voiced sounded so small, barely audible to his own ears, and he half wondered if he had only thought he'd said it aloud.

 

"Yeah, well, I didn't get you anything last year," Johnny said, and Peter hadn't expected it, freezing his muscles midway through the earthquake that erupted and rumbled his entire body sometime during the brief silence that followed Peter's last word.

He set his sights exclusively to Johnny's face, too afraid of this not being a true reality. That if he shut them he'd open them back up to a world where Johnny wasn't in it, a world lacking that familiar warmth, replaced with a growing coldness to fill that empty space; a world Peter had lived one year too long in.

Worse than, he was even more afraid of the possibility that if it really was real and he'd blink he'd miss a moment, a precious moment he could never get back if he were to let it pass by without full appreciation. And so his eyes stilled, watered, and stung like hell and Johnny was looking back at him in the way that he always did in Peter's memories, eyes so bright and blue, Peter swore it was glowing in the dark. But there was a certain sadness to it, a flickering light at the end of that tunnel where a lost boy was still trying to find his way back home. It thawed the salty icicles thickening at the corners of Peter's eyes.

Then he smiled. It was a sad, broken kind of smile that ached Peter to see it.

So he pulled his gaze, dropping and fixing it upon his own reflection, a silhouetted stranger peering back at him through the tiny lens of the camera in his lap.

He shut his eyes against the distorted image, a tingling sensation tap dancing behind his lids, every footstep sending a shiver shooting down his spine.

 

And when he opened them, slow and a bit unsteady, Johnny was still there right in front of him.

His blue eyes were wet and he was watching the sky, the same collection of stars that would never tell their secrets, and he looked beautiful beneath them like a picture to frame.

Peter almost couldn't believe it, but Johnny was here and he was real. Really, really real.

 

"Ya know," Johnny said, and his voice may have broke just the tiniest bit, "now that I look at it, it kinda looks like an ice cream truck."

And Peter couldn't help himself. He laughed and laughed and laughed. And when he heard Johnny laughing too, he realized he suddenly felt like crying and he didn't know if he wanted to cry because it was really that funny or if Johnny just really being here was just too overwhelming. Either way he kept laughing and he couldn't stop.

 

And he doesn't know how he can laugh like there wasn't a year that had passed where he was sitting on this rooftop all by himself, trying to connect the dots in the sky that could never shine nearly as bright as his eyes could, that no matter how many there were up there, they could never so much as fill the loneliness he felt knowing that every time he glanced over his shoulder he wouldn't be right there by his side.

 

Their laughter turned back time and here they were, just two goofy crime fighting teenagers who've never gotten their hearts broken; just two stupid idiots who've only ever joked and hadn't known when it was time to be serious; careless kids who were only just trying to figure their lives out, caring too much about the present, forgetting the past and never looking to the future; two idiots who hadn't appreciated the simpler times when they'd held them in the palm of their hands; two idiots who laugh when all they really want to do is cry.

Just two stupid idiots on a white Christmas day who can say so much without saying anything at all.

They were smiling their way through their tears and right there and then is when Peter realized that nothing else mattered but him.

Him and only him.

 

And so Peter squinted back up at the stars one last time and even if it didn't look like Ben or an ice cream truck, he liked to believe it did.

 


End file.
